


The Rogues Gallery

by Legs (InsanityRule)



Series: A Modicum of Humanity Makes Everything Harder [18]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Gen, Photography, another huge time skip, some more batfam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-27 15:13:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20950457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsanityRule/pseuds/Legs
Summary: Patrick Kyle Wayne, 13, is trying to get a photo of the elusive Batman for his school assignment. He gets a little more than he was expecting.





	The Rogues Gallery

**Author's Note:**

> Whooo here's the last one I have written. But if I ever get inspired this world will get some more one-shots. I don't think I have another long fic in me right now.

There's a light drizzle coating the city in slick, cold water. Patrick's breath condenses in front of his face, after one, two breaths, and then the air temperature stabilizes. He stares up at the fire escape ladder and nervously fiddles with the zoom lens of his camera.

“Night's going to continue on without you, Master P,” Alfred calls from the driver's seat of one of the smaller Wayne cars. Patrick looks back at him, and returns his attention to the slippery metal just out of reach. “I'm sure there's an easier way to complete your assignment.”

“I'm going to find him,” Patrick says, determined, and he tucks his camera inside the front of his raincoat. He shoves a trash can under the ladder and reaches up on his tiptoes to get to the second rung. It's a struggle, but he manages to pull himself onto the ladder and begin his ascent towards the rooftop.

He almost falls a few times, but every time he slips he death grips the ladder, breathing harsh and fast through his nose until he calms again and feels comfortable enough to continue. And then he reaches the first landing, and the second, and beyond that the escape is a series of creaking, rusty stairs that don't give him as much trouble.

The wind is whipping up on the roof, nearly ten stories up, and he pulls down the front of his stocking hat to keep the chill at bay. He frees his camera from his coat and zips it up to his neck. There's a tall safety wall around the entire roof perimeter, but he's tall enough to rest his elbows on the edge to use as a makeshift tripod.

Patrick focuses his camera at a statue in front of the bank across the street and snaps a couple shots. Then he moves his view higher, up on the rooftops, and watches for even the slightest movement. Out of panic he snaps a shot of a flag as it flaps in the breeze, then scowls down at his photo count. He only has ten left. He should have brought a second roll.

There's a commotion of fluttering and he snaps around, but it's just pigeons taking off and making a fuss about nothing. He kicks a piece of broken off cement and sends it skittering across the roof. He doesn't know why he's disappointed. It's not like he expected to find the Batman anyway.

It just would have been cool if he did.

He still waits, because he made Alfred drive all the way out to the edge of downtown after dark. He's just lucky it isn't a school night or he never would have gotten out of the house. It's not really fair though, because it's not like his dad is there either.

Some nights he is, but not as much as he used to be, and sometimes it's cool but sometimes Patrick misses their nighttime routine. Alfred's an okay substitute though, even if he does treat Patrick like he's still five years old sometimes.

He pulls out his cellphone and opens up his messages. Dick's texting him about coming over tonight, which means it's going to be  _ really _ late before his dad gets home. He answers him,  _ k _ , and sends a few other mindless messages to classmates and Tim, who's doing a lot of backseat photographing even though he isn't on the roof with him.

_ Probably doesn't even know how to use a good camera _ , Patrick thinks, and he moves to pocket his phone, but a whoosh of unnatural wind startles him and he drops it onto the roof.

He pulls his camera up on instinct before he registers the other person bounding around on the rooftops.  _ Lina?  _ But no, this person is  _ way _ bigger than her. He uses his camera to zoom in on the dark figure on the roof across the alley.

It's lucky his camera has a neck strap, because he drops it when he sees the one and only Batman through the viewfinder. He scrambles to get it back up and rushes through the zoom steps he learned in class. There's an annoying sign post in the frame so he scuffles to the side, lining up a shot of the Batman in profile as he scans the alley below.

He shoots one, and then six more in quick succession. And then he blinks again and the Batman is gone, swinging off to another rooftop as he protects the city. Patrick whispers a string of “thank yous” to the empty air and tucks his camera back into his coat, picks up his phone from where he dropped it, and begins the climb down.

“Catch anything interesting, sir?” Alfred asks after Patrick drops down off the ladder. Patrick can't get his mouth to respond, but he manages a weak nod as he opens up the back door and climbs inside. “Anywhere else?”

“Home, and can we go fast? Please and thank you.” He doesn't see the bemused smile on Alfred's face, too busy staring down at his camera, gently turning the zoom back and forth and preying he got a good shot.

Patrick runs a thumb over the little “3” for his film count and turns the camera towards his face. He takes the last three photos without bothering to change the focus and pops out the roll once it's done.

-

Dick parks his motorcycle in one of the free spaces in the garage and hops off. He pulls off his helmet and outer jacket and leaves them both on the seat of his bike. He notes the missing short limo and frowns down at the message Bruce sent him earlier this evening.

_ Valeska at large. Long patrol. Night with Patrick? _

He'd agreed without complaint. Watching bad Kung Fu movies with the kid is way less stressful than trying to help find Valeska when he doesn't want to be found. But if Bruce asks later he has his suit in the storage compartment of his bike. Patrick's thirteen; he can stay up past his bedtime without Dick's help.

He's hardly two steps into the Manor when he gets a call, and he smirks down at Bruce's number before answering. “I just got in. Babs needed a second pair of eyes on her new program. Where's the little guy?”

“Out, I assume. Possibly in the dark room.” Bruce sounds distracted, like he usually sounds these days when he's trying to find Valeska. “He had a photo assignment.”

“Kind of dark for photography,” Dick comments. His first stop is in the kitchen, where he finds a few of Alfred's desserts under a closture on the counter. He swipes a handful of madeleines and returns the lid to its place. “What's the subject?”

“Someone inspirational.”

“Uh huh,” Dick mumbles around his first of many snacks. “So who's the lucky subject?”

“The Batman,” Bruce says calmly, and Dick about spits the cookie across the kitchen. “What?”

“Are,” Dick sputters out a laugh, “you're joking, right?”

“I’m not much of a joker.”

“Yeah, I guess not,” Dick sighs, exasperated. “You're engaging in the weirdest nepotism, Bruce. And don't say it isn't  _ that _ . Holy crap, you hardly let reporters get a  _ blur _ . I could barely get you to sit still for photos when I graduated college and you're letting Patrick take pictures of you in your armor!”

“He was pretty excited. Don’t tease him too much about it.”

Dick opens his mouth to argue, and then he shakes his head fondly. “I won't tease him about having the Batman wrapped around his finger.”

“I didn't  _ pose _ ,” Bruce insists. Except Bruce is pretty much always posing. “I miss the days when you were too blinded by your admiration of me to question the things I do. Any chance we can get back to that?”

“Not likely,” Dick chuckles. “So I guess just getting a photo of you in your office at Wayne Enterprises wasn't good enough.”

“I guess I'm not all that inspirational,” Bruce says. How he can insist he isn't a joker is a mystery to Dick. “I need to get back to work. I have a sneaking suspicion I'm going to have to contend with the Red Hood tonight, and I'd prefer if I could catch Valeska alive.”

“Tell Jason hi for me. Stay safe.”

“I'll do what I can,” and Bruce ends the call.

-

Patrick clips the last of a series of photos from his photography class's trip to the Gotham city zoo onto his drying line. He carefully examines each print, using the blood red light to make some notes for himself for the future.  _ Good, a little blurry, very bad because the stupid monkey moved right when he took the shot. _ He's bouncing on his toes, itching to get back to the roll so he can see if he's going to get a guaranteed A+ on his assignment on Monday or if he'll have to settle for his second subject choice.

And then he can't stand to wait anymore. He hops back up on his step stool and starts developing the second half of the roll.

He's so nervous he feels like he's going to puke. Patrick holds his breath as the image starts appearing, and he gasps at the dark but unmistakable outline of the Batman's cowl dead center in the photo.

“Oh my God,” he mouths, thrusting one fist into the air with silent excitement. He gets through finishing developing the image and hangs it up on the line. “Yes, yes yes yesyes _ yes _ !”

He can hardly finish the roll, screws up two of the photos because his hands are shaking too much, and he almost doesn't bother to develop the last three but something tugs at his chest when he thinks of just tossing them. He takes his time, and even though their teacher will say they're bad he smiles up at his face on the line.

He turns off the red light and slips out of the dark room and starts tearing through the halls looking for Dick. Alfred's probably asleep; he's too old to stay up all night like Patrick and Dick when they sneak pop from the pantry and share a whole pint of ice cream. Patrick won't be able to sleep tonight at all even without the sugar and caffeine, but he's not going to say no when Dick asks if he's ready for an all nighter.

There's no sign of Dick on the second floor, so Patrick moves on to the first, taking a quick detour to the kitchen to grab himself a couple of the cookies Alfred made earlier. He munches on them as he walks down the long east hallway and slips into his dad's office.

Dick isn't there, but Patrick likes looking at all the book titles on the shelves and the little statues and trinkets interspersed through the space. He picks up an old looking spyglass and looks through it at the giant portrait of his dad and paternal grandparents. There's a discolored spot in the middle from a restoration. His dad said there was a small fire, but nothing too important was damaged, and nothing was beyond repair. He still looks sad whenever he looks up at it from his desk.

Patrick runs his hands over the stone fireplace, letting his fingers dip into the grooves between the bricks. He presses his fingers into the weird seam he noticed the other night, but the fireplace doesn't budge. How cool would that be though if it had moved aside?

But something different catches his eye, a little odd edge around the wood circle at the corner of the mantle. He presses at it, but it doesn't move. Then he tries turning it, and even though he knows it shouldn't be this loose it turns freely without much effort. And  _ then _ it responds when he presses it, and the mantle starts groaning as aged gears swing the fireplace into the space behind the wall.

Patrick's mouth drops open in shock. He scrambles over to the passage and pokes his head into the dark stairway. “Hello?”

It echoes, but otherwise there's no sound. Patrick sidles past the edge of the doorway and reaches out to find some sort of handrail, and his hand meets cool, natural stone. He uses the wall as a guide as he takes careful steps down into a dark-then suddenly far too bright!- space below the Manor.

There's a series of fast footsteps and Patrick freezes up. He glances to his left but there's nothing to hide behind, nor is there anything to his right. He holds his breath and holds up tiny fists, but it's not some crazy intruder, it's Dick, who's looking very sheepish as he slows to a stop about ten paces in front of Patrick.

“So,” he flounders. He rubs a hand across the back of his neck and sighs. “I guess the secret’s out.”

“What secret?” Patrick blinks owlishly at the high cave walls, the electronics, the beat up set of Batman's armor- “oh my God.”

“Right,” Dick follows Patrick's line of sight and gestures helplessly towards the case. “He stopped using that set. Too easy to warp.”

“What?”

“It used to be a lot less impressive, but holy cow, can Bruce get determined about his personal projects.”

“What?”

“Look,” Dick comes closer, but Patrick takes equal steps back, so he stops trying to approach for a second. “Okay, I'm just gonna say it,” he closes the gap between them and bends down on one knee, clasping a steady hand to Patrick's shoulder. “Your dad is the Batman.”

Patrick looks past Dick's shoulder at the equipment, the computers,  _ Batman's Batcave _ . He looks back at Dick and scowls, curling his hands into tiny fists of fury. “You knew?”

Dick nods. “Sorry buddy. Sworn to secrecy.”

“You're an adult,” Patrick snits and shakes off his hand. “You can do what you want.”

“Doesn't really work that way.” He doesn't look hurt that Patrick's mad at him; he keeps his expression in an easy smile, light and calm in the face of Patrick's distress. “I'm going to make you more mad, okay? Because I was the first Robin.”

“What!?” he sputters. “I've been-been having stupid all night pizza parties with  _ Robin _ ?”

“Nope,” Dick says, grinning ear to ear. “You've been having stupid all night pizza parties with Nightwing.”

“Shut up!” Patrick throws a weak, half-hearted punch at Dick's shoulder. He takes it like a champ. “You both lied to me?”

“Sorry kiddo. And uh,” he stands, running a nervous hand through his hair, “you'll figure it out but Tim's Red Robin-”

“I don't believe you!” He throws his arms wildly and stalks off towards the stairs in a full blown pout. “I'm not talking to you ever again.”

“Guess you mean that in the angry, you can't believe we would do this way, since we're standing in the Batcave.” He lurches forward until he's standing behind Patrick and his shaking shoulders, and he crouches down to hold him steady as he fumes. “It's okay to be mad.”

“I'm  _ not _ talking to you,” he shakes Dick off and whirls around, “so leave me alone.”

He turns to walk back up the stairs to the Manor when Dick asks, “so you don't want a tour?” Patrick stops with his foot still hovering in the air and looks over his left shoulder. “It's still the Batcave,” he says, shrugging. “I think it's pretty cool, but I guess it's up to you.”

He drops his foot to the stone floor and frowns down at it, but he's schooled himself into appearing stoic by the time he turns to face Dick and the mouth of the Batcave. “That sounds cool, I guess.”

-

Dick watches what is probably the funniest attempt to not appear completely enthralled he's ever seen. Patrick regards everything Dick points out with a cool demeanor, but he's bouncing on the balls of his feet. The second Dick puts a real life Batarang in his hands there's a delighted wonder that breaks through Patrick's stony pout.

“Pretty cool, right?” Patrick shrugs, and Dick can't help but laugh. “You're hard to impress.”

“It's okay,” Patrick sighs and looks out at the Batcave. “Sort of.”

“But we still lied, I get it.” He gently takes the Batarang back and claps his hand over Patrick's bony shoulder. “I have one more trick up my sleeve. I think you'll like it.”

“Is it armor?” The unspoken 'for me’ hangs heavy in the air between them.

Dick winces and shakes his head. “Patrick, there's a big reason why your dad didn't tell you about all this.”

“Oh,” he shuffles his feet as Dick guides him over to the hangar where his Nightwing cycle is currently being stored. “Why?”

“Why what?” Dick stops, and he turns to face Patrick head on. “Why no armor?”

Patrick nods. “Why'd you get to do it and not me? I'm not a baby anymore.”

Dick actually laughs, and it startles Patrick a bit. “I would have been out there with or without Bruce's permission. He just kept me from getting my butt kicked all across the city.” Patrick sulks, and Dick kneels so they're eye to eye and lifts his chin. “C'mon, we'll go for a ride. It'll be fun.”

“You drive like a grandma,” Patrick accuses.

Dick smirks. “Not on the Night Cycle I don't.”

Patrick is still skeptical, bt he follows Dick over to his spot in the hangar without any more digs against his driving. Dick helps Patrick dress for riding in a thick leather jacket about a size too big for him and a helmet with a dark visor and minimal decals. The kid is almost vibrating by the time he's ready to hop on, and it makes Dick more than a little nervous. But the death grip on his sides feels secure enough, so Dick revs the engine a few times to show off before peeling out of the hangar and onto the dirt road leading from the Manor and towards the city.

He can hear little whoops and hollers in his ear as they speed along the empty byway around the city; Patrick's enjoyment is infectious, and Dick can't wipe the smile off his face.

-

Bruce finds a secluded spot outside of Uptown to park the Batmobile, but he still takes the time to scan the area before exiting and finding a shadowy perch to observe the nearby parking lot.

Dick's arrival is timely, although the presence of another person on back makes the hairs on Bruce's neck stand on end. He watches Dick pull off his own helmet first before aiding the young man with him, and Bruce's fears are realized when Patrick's face emerges from the inky black of his protective headwear.

This isn't what he had in mind when Dick told him they needed to have a little meeting tonight.

He hops down off the fire escape and crosses the craggy cement over to them, stopping before them and waiting a few beats before pulling back his cowl to reveal his face. He's sweaty, and his facial hair is making itself known, but he's sure Patrick's little gasp isn't because of his unkempt appearance.

“He found the entrance,” Dick explains. “Showed up in the Batcave while I changed out some of my equipment with Alfred.”

“Wait,  _ Alfred _ knows?” Patrick asks, scandalized. “Am I the last one to find out?”

“In the household,” Bruce says. He realizes he disguised his voice after saying it, and clears his throat before speaking again. “And a few others on a need to know basis.”

_ And a couple that aren't _ , but he only thinks that.

“Did Silver know?” Patrick bites back. Bruce catches the quiver of his bottom lip before Patrick can still it, and he crouches down in front of his son, not bothering to hide his own hurt.

“She knew,” he whispers. “She, the two of us discussed it for a long time. We thought keeping you out of the loop may help keep you safe.”

“ _ He _ doesn't agree,” Patrick snaps am accusing finger at Dick, who holds up his hands in surrender.

“I didn't say that,” Dick says. He clearly  _ thought _ it though, and it's colored his approach to tonight's reveal.

“It wasn't his call,” Bruce tells Patrick firmly.

Patrick looks mollified for a few beats, then his expression hardens. “Everyone keeps treating me like a baby. I'm  _ thirteen _ .”

“I know you're not a baby,” Bruce says softly. “It's why telling you worried me so much. I know you. I know you'd want to help.”

“But you're not going to let me,” Patrick grumbles. “I could do it! I'm getting real good in my krav maga class.”

“There's more to it than strength alone. There's,” he pauses, and even though he and the boys all clearly have that other  _ something _ they need to succeed in this business he doesn't know how to articulate I properly. “There's a drive. You wouldn't have considered being a Robin without knowing about me.”

“I told him that,” Dick agrees. “Basically. That we were already headed this way without your influence.”

“I'm not sending you out there just because it's been the family business for over half my life.” Bruce clasps Patrick's arms gently. He looks so small in Bruce's old leather jacket, too small, like Bruce should scoop him up and whisk him away somewhere far away from Gotham, somewhere safe. “I'll stop if you want me to.”

“What?” Patrick blinks owlishly, and Dick isn't handling the declaration with any more tact. “You'd quit?”

“If you wanted me to,” Bruce says plainly. “It's dangerous work. I've lost people to it. Too many.” He sighs. “I won't lose you, and I don't want you to lose me, so if you say so, I'll quit.”

Patrick bites his lower lip. “I don't know.”

“It's okay,” he squeezes Patrick's arms, and when that doesn't quell the nervous crinkle around his eyes Bruce pulls him in for a proper, if a bit pointy, hug, which Patrick returns with all he's got. “Think on it. Take your time.”

Patrick steps back from the hug and nods. “I'm gonna go do that. Now.”

“Okay. Don't go far. Sit in the Batmobile.” He hands over a fob for Patrick to unlock the doors. “We'll be here.”

Dick waits until Patrick's safely tucked away inside the Batmobile before adding any commentary. “Holy crap, you don't think that's kind of cruel? Making him decide?”

“I've already made up my mind,” Bruce says. Dick's mouth falls open with a silent 'oh’. “I don't want him to feel helpless.”

Dick nods. “So I guess you're hanging up your cowl?”

“At least temporarily.” He rubs a hand over his face, feeling the scrape of his stubble against his palm. “A handful of the Rogues are retired or at least contained, a few dead, but Jeremiah,” he gets a faraway look, “he won't stop. I don't think he knows how.”

“We know what we're doing,” Dick reassures him. “Tim and I, and Jason too, we learned from the best.”

“Thank you.”

“I meant Alfred,” Dick teases. Bruce lets go of the breath he's been holding in a rush of laughter. “We know what we're doing.”

“I know.” He stands and stretches out his tight muscles. Every year it gets just a little bit harder. “I'm going to go talk to Patrick, but I need to wrap up a few things tonight after that.”

Dick nods. “I'll take him home. Send the little punk my way when you're done.”

Bruce finds Patrick doing more exploring of the Batmobile and less thinking, but that's fine, he wasn't giving him an actual say in the matter, just the illusion of one. He has a feeling he knows what Patrick would have said if he had.

“We've disabled some of the features now that some of the Rogues aren't active anymore,” he says, and is startles Patrick into sitting politely in the passenger seat and twiddling his thumbs. “When you're older I'll let you try driving it. In a parking lot. Slowly.”

“Can I drive Dick's Night Cycle then too?”

“You'll have to pry it away from him first.” He lets his body sink into the driver's seat with a heavy sigh. “I'm going to take a sabbatical from being The Batman.”

“Oh.”

“Were you going to say the opposite?” Bruce asks, and Patrick shrugs. “I haven't been very fair to you.”

“Are there more secrets?”

“Your mom, Selina, is Catwoman.”

Patrick laughs. “Dad I already know that.”

Bruce knew he knew, and he smirks. “And yet you didn't consider that I could be Batman?”

“No? I don't know, your other job is boring. It's a good cover,” Patrick says. Bruce feigns looking hurt, but Patrick's good nature isn't swayed by his act. “All you do is sit at a desk and tell people no. It's not very Batman-like, dad.”

“Sometimes I say yes.” Patrick doesn't laugh this time. “I’m sorry I made everyone keep this from you. I did it to protect you.” From the Rogues, from Bruce's influence, there's a lot the boy deserves to be sheltered from.

“I know,” Patrick mumbles, head bowed down while he fusses with the zipper of the jacket. “But if Dick and Tim need help you'll go, right?”

“Of course,” Bruce says. “Family sticks together.” Patrick smiles and looks up from his lap. “And no, you're not going to be a Robin, but I think we'll find something you can do to help in some way.”


End file.
